


Bee Mine

by littlemissaltimeter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly Valentine's Day Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissaltimeter/pseuds/littlemissaltimeter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper has been avoiding Sherlock, and this is one mystery he is determined to solve. (Written for the Sherlolly Valentine's Day Ficathon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bee Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Valentine's Day gift fic for awesomenessembodied on tumblr! I hope you enjoy it! (And oh, goodness, sorry for the pun.)

It was strange.

It was odd.

It was downright peculiar — a nine on the scale, and it was driving Sherlock spare. 

Molly Hooper was avoiding him. There was no other explanation.

He followed traces of her — newly cleaned lab equipment, warmth on her chair, and the scent of sweet coffee tinged with antiseptic — all to no avail. The only part of Molly Hooper he had seen in the last thirteen days was the sight of the tail ends of her ponytail and her lab coat whipping out of view behind the mortuary doors no less than ten days ago.

They all seemed in on it, too: John, Lestrade, Stamford, even Mary and Mrs. Hudson. He wouldn't be surprised if the ruse extended to Mycroft. Never before had his visitations to St. Bart's been so limited.

His access wasn't fully denied, but he was met with a constant stream of stupidity — well, even more so than usual: "You'll have to work with the intern today, Sherlock. How are they supposed to learn otherwise?"; "Um, s-s-sir, you, um, can't add flesh-eating bacterium to the liver tissue;" and "For God’s sake, Sherlock! Put down the bag of fingers. You can't take them with you." What was the point of be able to  ~~boss~~ provide the interns with a learning opportunity if he couldn't even persuade them to do the fun stuff? Molly would have at least let him keep the fingers after dealing with that tedium.

But every time Sherlock thought he might finally see her, Molly Hooper continued to allude him.

The worst part about it was that Sherlock was at a complete loss as to why his pathologist, usually so cheery and accommodating, was eschewing his every attempt to see her.

Even in the earliest stages of their meeting, glimpses of Molly had never been so fleeting. There were stammers and blushes on her end, but she would always be there when he needed her. To assist him. To listen.

Things had changed. Of course they had. Since that night, the eve of his “death,” when she had seen through him. Had helped him. Had never stopped believing in him.

But there was a certain pleasantness to the changes, even he would admit to it. Gone were the uncertain smiles, the constant self-checking. Molly Hooper mattered; she had always mattered, and they both knew it now.

There had been a few unplanned for factors upon his return, but they had managed to navigate past those. He kept his thoughts about her fool of a fiancé — harmless, certainly, but still a fool — to himself. She had seen through and called him out on his shoddy excuse to relapse, an event that later made him submit to her his most sincere apology. As for the cases of Magnussen and Faux-iarty, they had been dealt with; there had been no need to involve Molly with any potential threat that might have arisen, Sherlock had made sure of that.

It wasn’t even as though he had done anything particularly bad lately, at least not from his point of view. He would have to check with John or Mary, they always seemed to know about these things — but, still, he was usually adept at reading Molly’s cues when he had gone too far, and Molly wasted no time berating his rudeness now.

Sherlock scanned his last few interactions with Molly. Nothing seemed wrong. He hadn’t said or done anything that would have unintentionally hurt her feelings. He was certain of it. So why, the infuriating question remained, had she been avoiding him?

Problems at Barts? No, that couldn’t be it. The interns were insufferable to him, but they were, on a whole, unoffending. They kept the lab clean, despite his efforts to lure Molly out with an inordinate mess. With the extra help with general lab maintenance, Molly was able to devote more of her time to her research. Her new article, published in the most recent issue of _Pathologists Quarterly_ was well presented and of particular interest to Sherlock. So, no. No visible problems there.

Something wrong with her cat? Another possibility, but improbable, given the facts. He had begrudgingly grown quite close to the feline whilst commandeering her room as one of his bolt holes. Surely, Molly would have told him if Toby’s health had gone astray.

And Molly herself looked... well. His quick sightings of her during the past fortnight had indicated that. Her cheerful voice carried through the halls of Barts before he entered the lab. And Mary and John would have mentioned something, right? That was, if they weren’t too caught up in their pre-baby preparations to notice if something were astray.

A new boyfriend? That had to be it. But Molly never went out of her way to hide her relationships from him. So it must be serious then, more serious than that last one, Meat Dagger. But, still, even that didn’t seem to add up.

He was determined to get to the bottom of this. No new cases had come in; his schedule was free. By this point, he was certainly overdue for a visit to Barts, and, for goodness sake, he tracked down criminals — finding his pathologist should be comparable to a walk in the park, so why wasn’t it?

Sherlock stopped down the stairs of 221, and threw open the door to the outside street, frightening his landlady in the process.

“Yoo hoo, Sherlock! Happy Valentine’s, love,” she shouted at the sight of his frenzied figure hailing a cab.

Her call was ignored as he folded himself into the car and barked his destination to the driver. Mrs. Hudson sighed and let herself into the building.

“Oh dear, I do hope he remembers what day it is.”

* * *

Sherlock’s first stop was Molly’s flat. 

Respecting her space for the past fortnight was a new challenge for him, but even as impatient as he was now, he knocked on her door, waiting a reasonable amount of time, before fishing her key out of his pocket and letting himself inside.

The sight in front of him yielded no clues.

Her sitting room was slightly messy but organized in the way she normally kept it. The remains of her morning coffee sat on a coaster on the side table, and her most recent read laid discarded, downturned and balancing precariously on the edge of her plush settee.

Sounds of a quiet meow from Molly’s bedroom diverted his attention, but a quick inspection of the room turned up the same result. He knew Molly’s room as well as he knew any of his bolt holes. He would have sensed if anything were out of place almost immediately.

Bending down to scoop up the feline who sat pawing at the bottom of his trousers, Sherlock figured the least he could do was give the poor thing a treat. Molly didn’t always approve, insisting Toby ate enough already, but Sherlock didn’t see the harm. The cat was a great listener, almost as good as Molly or John; he should certainly be rewarded.

Sherlock made his way into the kitchen and set the mewing cat down at his feet as he searched through the cabinets for an appropriate treat. The contents of Molly’s kitchen were normal, not indicating any signs of current or previous illness on behalf of either Molly or Toby, and Sherlock, upon spotting a shelf new devoted to little jars of honey, was glad to see that Molly had taken his talk about the health benefits of honey to heart.

“Everything’s normal, Toby,” Sherlock muttered, bending down to feed and pet the eager feline. “And not even suspicious normal. Just the boring normal. Why is everything so normal? Why won’t she see me?”

His frustration was met only with the contented purr of the feline nuzzling his hand.

* * *

When it was made clear that he wouldn’t be getting any more treats, Toby grew tired of Sherlock and retreated back to his spot on his owner’s bed. 

Devoid of Toby’s pleasant company, Sherlock drew his coat around him to brace himself for cold outside and locked the door to Molly’s flat behind him. A quick cab ride later, he stood at the entrance of Barts, striding in like owned the place. He was a man on a mission. He would see Molly Hooper no matter what — no one could hold him back.

He caught sight of the hospital’s flower display out of the corner of his eye. Mummy always liked receiving flowers when Papa had done something wrong. He made a brief stop at the counter to buy the shop’s most handsome bouquet of flowers. Although he was certain he hadn’t behaved in any way that was particularly not good, Molly was sentimental. She would appreciate them.

Sherlock swept through the doors of the lab, ready to growl insults at any intern that dare enter his path, but the precaution was ultimately needless. The room was empty.

A quick walk down the hall and Sherlock threw himself through the door of Molly’s office, not bothering to knock. Again, he was greeted with nothing but an empty space. He noted the temperature of her seat and the evidence of a recently eaten lunch and a spilt tea. She had most likely taken a trip to the toilet to clean herself. Her computer monitor was still on. All signs indicated she would be back soon. Sherlock could wait.

* * *

Molly Hooper had started her day in high spirits. Toby, whether he sensed the importance of today or not, was exceptionally cuddly this morning, and Mike had agreed to let her leave early so she could put her plan into action. After thirteen days of avoiding Sherlock Holmes, she was finally ready. Today was the day. Today was her day.

It was a bit cliche, she admitted, choosing this day. Not one to have exactly the right boyfriend at exactly the right time, she had never really put that much stock into the 14th of February, and she certainly didn’t expect him to have any particular attachment to it. But, still, she was a romantic at heart; her sentiment would always win out.

After a thankfully slow day in both the morgue and the lab (London had apparently taken to heart the romantic side of the holiday), Molly sat in her small office, eating lunch and settling the finishing touches of her plan.

Her final flourish at her keyboard, however, spelt disaster for the contents of her desk as her hand caused her nearly-full mug of tea to spill its contents over the surface. Quickly stowing her recently completed reports into one of her desk draws, Molly grabbed a nearby tea towel (always kept close given the frequency of this mishap) and sopped up the mess.

She sighed at the tea-colored splotch expanding on her blouse. Luckily, she also kept a spare set of clothes on hand as well. A quick refresher in the toilet, and then she would soon be on her way to set everything into motion.

Molly Hooper looked at herself in the mirror, standing straight and squaring her shoulders. Her confidence around him came more easily now, a fact that made her proud. She smiled at her reflection.

“You’ve got this, Molls.”

Molly, of course, should have expected that not everything would go according to plan.

* * *

Not one to sit in boredom when he could help it, Sherlock noted the results of Molly’s latest research displayed on the computer screen. His interest was piqued. Molly always shared her research with him, surely she wouldn’t mind if he took a quick peek at it now.

To say the contents of the report confused him was an understatement. Molly was a pathologist — this area was simply not her specialty — and, apart from nodding through his talks, she had never shown particular interest in the subject. And, yet, evidence to the contrary was right before his very eyes. 

Sherlock scanned the open document. Every page, the subject was clear: bees. Pages upon pages of information, all of it to do with apiology. It was a subject that had always fascinated him, and he sat in front of the screen, engrossed by Molly’s findings.

* * *

Molly entered through the door of her office to find her chair occupied. She could hardly say she was surprised. Of course, he was here. He wouldn’t be Sherlock if he didn’t come by and throw her plans off balance, but today she was ready. Her plan was in effect starting this very moment.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up from his reading, startled.

“Molly. You have been avoiding me. You have a full stocked shelf of honey in your kitchen, and a report about bees on your computer. Given your knowledge that this is a subject close to my interests, you have been running at the sight of me for the past thirteen days. I have not done anything not good by your standards or even John’s. I even brought you these.” He gestured to the flowers he had discarded on the office’s other chair. “I demand an explanation. Now.”

“Of course, but, first, I think a quick venue change is in order.”

With that, Molly powered off the computer, grabbed her purse, and began walking down the hall. She looked back at the consulting detective, who still sat in shock behind her desk.

“Well come on, then. Shut off the light and make sure the door is locked on your way out. I’ll explain everything once we’ve gotten there. I promise,” she called over her shoulder. “Oh! Thanks for the flowers!”

She only looked back once, halfway up the flight of stairs, to make sure he was following. He was right there, two strides behind and grasping the bouquet.

* * *

Sherlock was not used to willfully following people around.

However, as he closed the door of the cab Molly had flagged down, mindful not to crush the flowers in his hand, he noted that there was no one he would be more willing to follow than Molly Hooper herself.

To Sherlock’s surprise, the cab deposited them at 221 Baker Street. With barely barely a blink, Molly paid the fare and bounded out the cab, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling him along.

The sudden contact alarmed Sherlock. He had admired the skill and dexterity of Molly’s hands during the many autopsies he had seen her perform, but he had never thought of holding her hand in his. It was different. Surprisingly, he found he was not particularly adverse to this new development.

Molly knocked at door and was instantly greeted with the sight of Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh, hello, dear. Everything ready, then?”

Sherlock frowned at Molly’s nod. How did Mrs. Hudson know what was going on?

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Just taking him up there now.”

“Well, alright, dears. I’ll just fetch a holder for these, then.” she wrangled the flowers from Sherlock’s grasp. “Enjoy yourselves!”

Molly beamed at Mrs. Hudson and hastened her steps, dragging Sherlock up the stairs in her excitement. Instead of entering 221B, however, Molly kept continuing up the stairs, only stopping once they had emerged onto the roof the building.

Sherlock stared at the site in front of him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. How had Molly set all this up without his knowing? He blinked at Molly waiting for her explanation.

“I know you haven’t exactly had the best experience with rooftops lately, but I figured if you don’t get too close to the edge, it would be all right.” Molly let out a little laugh.

“Molly.”

“It’s just, that night, that night before, you were so worried and sad, and after everything was all set and we were waiting for everything to play out, we just talked about silly things, remember? To get our minds off the nerves. The possibility of the plan going wrong. And, you, you mentioned bees and how much they fascinated you. Thinking about them just seemed to have this sort of calming effect on you.”

“Molly.”

“And then,” she continued, tucking her head low, “when you came back, whenever you hit a snag with a case or something, you would just talk about them, a little fact or two, mumbled under your breath at the microscope or that lecture you gave me a few months ago about the benefits of honey. And recently, with John and Mary being so preoccupied with the baby coming, and I know you’re excited about that, but you’ve looked so lonely lately, and you mentioned wanting to maybe keep bees one day, and I thought this would be a good first step.”

“Molly.”

She looked up, still uncertain of Sherlock’s response.

“There’s an apiary on my roof.”

Molly nodded.

“It’s empty right now, it’s not exactly the right season for bees and you don’t know much about keeping them yet, but I’ve already talked it through with Mrs. Hudson, and John thought it was a good idea, and even Mycroft helped a little, and, I don’t know, I just thought you would like it.”

Sherlock circled the apiary, inspecting all its components. It was exquisitely crafted. He hadn’t done much in the way of research into urban beekeeping, but he was sure the thoroughness of Molly’s document and visits to other nearby apiaries could provide him with a more than sufficient amount of information. His inspection done, he turned back to Molly.

“You’ve been avoiding me for the past thirteen days to install an apiary on my roof?”

Molly nodded once more.

“I needed some time away from Barts to come here and make sure everything was in order. Mike knew about it, so he worked up that scheme with the interns. I promise, if anything especially sensitive had come up from the Yard, I would have been there to help you, but I wanted to make sure this was done properly. Do, do you like it, then?”

Sherlock couldn’t stop his sudden response or his smile.

“I love it.”

And suddenly before he could think, he had crossed the length of the roof, gathered her small form into his arms, and kissed her. Molly gasped slightly, but soon melted into the kiss. He smirked at the slight taste of honey, most likely a remnant of her earlier lunch, on her lips.

After a few seconds, Sherlock broke the kiss, taking note of the attractive flush that had spread to Molly’s cheeks and resting his forehead against hers, “And I suppose that since the sentiment of this particular date has not been lost on me, I find that it would be amiss if I did not take the opportunity to ask: Molly Hooper, will you be mine?”


End file.
